When the Devil Drives

Yet he'd summed up some of her past reactions with disturbingaccuracy, she recalled unwillingly. His comments about her marriageto Martin had been too close to the mark for comfort.She shivered. What was she saying? She'd loved Martin, of courseshe had. He'd been sweet and safe and there, and she'd thought thatwas enough. She'd convinced herself that it was.Only it wasn't, she thought wretchedly. How could it be? And it wasdisaster for both of us.On the day of his funeral, she'd stood in the small bleak churchyard inthe conventional black dress of the widow, feeling drained ofemotion, totally objective, as if all this tragedy were happening tosome other person. She could even remember being thankful that thedemure veiling on her equally conventional hat concealed the factthat she was completely tearless.Then she'd looked up and seen Cal Blackstone staring at her. He'dbeen standing on the edge of thesmall crowd of mourners, but hishead wasn't bent in grief or common respect. There had beenbitterness i'a the look he sent her, and condemnation, and overlyingall a kind of grim triumph.Don't think I've given up, his glance had told her. This marriage ofyours was just an obstacle which has now been removed. And nowI'm coming after you again.The knowledge of it had been like a blow, knocking all the breath outof her body. Involuntarily, instinctively, she'd taken a step backwardsin instant negation, her foot stumbling on a tussock of earth.'Be careful, my dear!' Her father had insisted on attending theceremony with her, standing bareheaded at her side in the windsweptgraveyard, and she'd snatched at his arm for comfort and support as